Authors: Highclough Lady
'Our wedding bed, my dear. I need witnesses that the marriage has been consummated, just in case you try to have it annulled.'
She paled. 'You can't mean it! You could not be so cruel to me.'
He shrugged. 'What's the difference if I take you here or at Highclough?'
'No!' Verity struggled, but could not escape Luke's iron grip. His fingers dug into her skin through the thin silk wrap while around her the men's brutal laughter echoed between the stones.
'Sir,' the priest remonstrated anxiously. 'I really do not think -'
'I didn't bring you here to think!' snarled Luke. 'Get on with it before the little wildcat wrenches my arms off.'
Verity struggled harder.
'No, no! I will not! You cannot make me!'
'Brigg, give her the brandy!'
At Luke's barked command Brigg approached. With one hand he gripped Verity's hair and pulled back her head while with the other he tipped the contents of a bottle down her throat. She had no idea how much of the fiery liquid she swallowed, but as Brigg raised his hand again she shook her head.
'Luke, no more - please, no more.'
Luke signalled to the groom to stand back.
'So, will you be sensible now? Good. Come, then, let's finish this.'
Verity watched as the vicar stepped forward, holding a bible between his shaking hands. By the flaring torchlight the nightmare ceremony proceeded. As the brandy took effect Verity's eyelids drooped and she leaned against her cousin. The priest droned on, she heard his questions and made no answer, but the ceremony continued. Luke forced a ring onto her finger and she gazed at it, too drowsy to care what was happening.
'…you are now man and wife.'
The men around her gave a drunken cheer. Luke lifted her hand so that the light reflected on the heavy gold band.
'So, now you are my wife, and Highclough is mine!' Luke laughed and gave her a rough kiss.
'And you know as well as I that this sham marriage is unlawful!' The words rang around the stones. Verity's head jerked up. Rafe Bannerman stood in the entrance, his hands dug into the pockets of his white coat, which gleamed against the black night behind him. Will Barber and two other men stepped out of the darkness to stand at his shoulder.
'A defrocked priest and a drugged bride?' Mr Bannerman's lip curled. 'I gave you more credit, Worsthorne!' His hard glance flickered over the gathering. 'And you have brought your gambling cronies to help celebrate your nuptials? How touching, but I think we can dispense with their services.' He lifted one hand, drawing a horse pistol from the pocket of his coat. 'Vickery, Pecket and the rest of you – I know you all. You would be advised to go back to Derringden, and keep your heads down for a while if you do not want to suffer for this night's work.'
A silence had fallen over the company, and the men began to back away from Luke, some slipping between the stones to disappear into the night. Rafe Bannerman turned his attention back to the little group in the centre.
'It is finished, Luke,' he spoke quietly. 'Let her go.'
With a snarl Luke stepped back, pulling Verity with him.
'We made our vows, and there are witnesses to the fact!' He glanced about him, but most of the men had now gone, and the cleric had retreated against one wall, whimpering.
'Quiet!' screamed Luke. He turned back to look at Rafe Bannerman, and his wild eyes came to rest upon Will Barber.
'Will, come and aid me. I am master of Highclough now. You are employed by me.'
Mr Bannerman shook his head.
'Correction, Will is in
my
employ. Gabriel Gatley is an old friend of mine, and claimed Will for his nephew: I knew you would not take him on if you thought he had anything to do with me, but I needed someone to watch you. I'm only sorry that he spent May Day at the fair when he thought you safe in Halifax. If he has seen you return we might have saved Miss Shore an uncomfortable time in the ice-pit.'
Luke chewed his lip, looking about him,. Only Brigg and two of his cronies remained, but they were both large men with cruel, battered faces and they looked eager to fight.
Rafe watched him, his face impassive.
'It is finished, Luke,' he said quietly. 'Let her go.'
'The devil I will! Fifty guineas to each of you to hold Bannerman and his men until I have made sure of my bride. Brigg, show 'em the way!'
As Brigg and his accomplices advanced upon Rafe Bannerman, Luke dragged Verity towards the stone shelf. Looking up into his face, she saw it was transfigured with rage, the eyes alight with a maniacal gleam. Knowing he was beyond reason, Verity dug in her heels, determined to fight every inch of the way as Luke pulled her across the floor. Losing patience, he picked her up and carried her to the stone embrasure where he threw her down onto the stone slab and climbed on top of her. She kicked and struggled, turning her head when he tried to kiss her. A shot rang out and in the guttering torchlight she saw Rafe Bannerman wrestling with Brigg. The advantage in height and weight was with Mr Bannerman, but the groom was a brawler and he was using all his strength to try to gouge out his opponent's eyes. For an instant Verity forgot her own predicament as she watched in horror while the black, ragged fingernails curled within an inch of Rafe Bannerman's face and in that moment Luke bore down upon her with a triumphant cry. She felt the weight of his body crushing her into the stone and she could do nothing to hold him off, her arms beating uselessly against his back. She swept her hand over the rocky shelf, grazing her knuckles on the rough wall. Then her fingers touched a loose rock. She scrabbled and strained to grasp it, all the while aware of Luke's breath on her neck, his hands pulling aside the thin wrap. With a desperate cry she squirmed beneath him, shifting her position very slightly, but it was enough. Her fingers curled about the stone and she brought her arm up in an arc then dashed the stone down upon his head with all her might. Luke slumped down on her and she found herself trapped beneath the dead weight of his unconscious body. With one last effort she pushed him aside and he tumbled to the floor.
* * * *
Gasping, Verity sat up and with trembling hands pulled her silk wrap close about her. She tried to steady her breathing and to control the shudders that wracked her body. The stone enclosure was quiet now, with only the wind sighing softly around the stones. She tried to steady her breathing and to control the shudders that racked her body. Rafe Bannerman was coming towards her: he was breathing heavily, his white coat covered in dirt and there was blood trickling from his lip. Verity watched him approach and crossed her arms tightly around her: she wanted to fly into his arms, yet perversely she was afraid she would recoil from his touch. He halted, and drew out his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his mouth. He looked at the body at her feet.
'You appear to have managed very well without my help, Miss Shore.'
She gave a shaky laugh.
'I did not realize I was so resourceful.' She tried to stand but her legs were so weak she was obliged to lean against the rock. Rafe dropped to his knees beside Luke.
'Is - is he dead?' she whispered.
'No, unconscious. Will is securing Brigg and his cronies now. My men will fetch a carriage to take all of them to the lock-up in Halifax.' He rose. 'You are trembling.'
'It is the cold.' She tried to stop her voice from shaking. 'I am really not dressed for the outdoors.'
The corners of his mouth lifted.
'No. I can see that.' He slipped out of his coat. 'Here, put this around you.'
She allowed him to throw the coat over her shoulders but his hands did not linger, and he made no move to touch her, merely stood looking down at her, his hard, unfathomable gaze searching her face. Then he held out one hand towards her, softly murmuring her name.
Slowly, she put out her hand, and as her fingers found his, her iron resolve deserted her. With a sob she fell towards him and he pulled her into his arms, holding her while she cried, his cheek resting gently against her hair. At last the tears subsided. She took his proffered handkerchief and began to wipe her eyes.
'Are you hurt?' he asked her, his voice harsh with anxiety. 'Did he…?'
She shook her head. 'A little bruised, perhaps. Nothing worse. ' She leaned against him again, sighing. 'Take me home, Rafe.'
* * * *
Verity's journey back to Highclough was accomplished in the same manner as her outward one, yet her feelings could not have been more different. She sat across Mr Bannerman's saddle, wrapped in his coat and with her cheek resting comfortably against his chest. Above them the full moon was riding high and bathing the moors in a silver blue light. Feeling the strong arms about her, Verity felt very safe.
'Rafe, what will happen to them … to Luke?'
They will all spend a few nights in the lock-up. Brigg and his accomplices will be charged with attempted murder and kidnap and Luke….. well, attempted murder, abduction, attempted rape. These are serious offences, the penalties are severe.'
She shivered. 'Must it be so?'
He looked down at her. 'No. If you will not testify, the case cannot go ahead. Whatever you choose to do, be assured that Brigg and his cronies will not remain in the country. I will not allow it.
The deadly resolve in his tone made her shiver.
'And…and Luke?' she murmured. 'I am thinking of poor Megs. She will be heartbroken.'
'I am thinking of poor Megs. She will be heartbroken.'
'Well, perhaps we should see what the doctors have to say, although I would see him hang for what they have done to you.'
She snuggled closer. 'Luke
is
being punished, Rafe. He cannot have Highclough, and he has lost his reason. We should not be unkind, when we have so much.'
'True.' His arms tightened about her. 'Look, you can see Highclough from this point.'
Verity raised her head. The house was in darkness below them, the windows gleaming silver in the moonlight. She sighed, thinking of Megs and the sleeping household, as yet unaware of the night's activity.
'It looks so beautiful. I have grown to love it here.'
'And will you want to live at Highclough when we are married? Newlands would suit me better, but I can run the estate almost as easily from here.'
'Are we to be married?' she asked him, hiding a smile.
He gave a low growl. 'If you think I am going to spend the better part of a night rescuing you without some reward you are sadly mistaken. And then to be carrying you around the countryside, half-naked -'
'Rafe! I am perfectly respectable.'
'If you call that wisp of silk you are wearing respectable you are all about in your head,' he retorted.
She chuckled.
'Then you will have to marry me, to save my reputation. And I would be quite content to live at Newlands with you, as long as I can ride over the moors occasionally. Perhaps we could find a tenant for Highclough.'
'I think I might already have one for you: James Marsden, who will be overseeing the building of the mill at Beech Clough. He would need to be near at hand and he could easily direct matters from Highclough.'
'I could almost believe you had it all planned,' exclaimed Verity. She sighed and added mournfully, 'I see now that I have fallen into the clutches of an inveterate schemer.'
He reined in his horse and put a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face up until she was obliged to look at him. His eyes glinted in the moonlight.
'I knew when I first saw you at Cromford that you would be trouble.'
She struggled to free her arm from the folds of his voluminous coat, then she reached up, putting her fingers against his cheek.
'And I had the strangest feeling that you were my knight in shining armour.'
He shook his head at her. 'I am no Sir Galahad, my love.'
'No,' she said lovingly. 'You are blunt, overbearing, used to your own way and, if I remember correctly, odiously bad-tempered in the mornings.'
He was startled.
'A catalogue of faults indeed.'
With a low laugh she threw her arms about his neck.
'Yes,' she murmured, 'but without them just think how
dull
life would be!'
Copyright © 2004 by Melinda Hammond
Originally published by Robert Hale (London) [9780709077022]
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.